by Laura Eklund
THE FLOOD
When the cold heat from the outside comes in
It is raining and I cannot feel it
I want only to lie with you in our guttural darkness
Still heavy and insane, feeling the rain expunges all sins.
The picture is of you bending down
Wiping up water diluted by a pen.
I cannot wipe away the image of the red checked shirt
And how many buckets of water were carried to spin in the washer.
It was all day and all night, and part of the next day.
When the trees fall I think how well they look overgrown
How heaven started without me and the earth moves toward you.
Hands, voice, the air is hidden that holds-
All moving toward an eternity
Big hands that is strong and needy
Falling like ash all around me.
The neighbor came and the road had been carried away.
It seemed outlandish to have a spill.
I don’t want to forget the sound of all that rain
Or the feeling of abandonment by nature.
I kept imagining myself with you and the red checked shirt
But I was already there.
The sun is bruised upon your face
It cannot know of your weight
And how one imagination dies within the other.
The sound of the morning birds I will always hear.
The air becomes hollow, it is a thief of light
Clawing the air in sadness
A unity that will not break or fade away.
It is a splendid way to touch how things cross.
AFTER THE FLOOD
It was uncommon language to talk
To rummage through things all wanted forgotten.
We only wanted to make a thief of the morning moon.
Everything seemed cast in shadows.
Even the ride through town was rainy
The old women had everything they owned
Littered upon the sidewalks
Their faces furrowed like feathers
Looking as if they carried pigeons on their shoulders
Rumors have given what things they lost.
Can you find what you remember?
The voices seem hollow in the air.
Time was confusing
And hurt was all they knew.
Author’s Note: I wrote these two poems last week about the horrible flood that destroyed so many homes and affected so many in my Tennessee and Kentucky region. I live in Olive Hill, KY, where all homes within the city limits were destroyed.
It was uncommon language to talk
To rummage through things all wanted forgotten.
We only wanted to make a thief of the morning moon.
Everything seemed cast in shadows.
Even the ride through town was rainy
The old women had everything they owned
Littered upon the sidewalks
Their faces furrowed like feathers
Looking as if they carried pigeons on their shoulders
Rumors have given what things they lost.
Can you find what you remember?
The voices seem hollow in the air.
Time was confusing
And hurt was all they knew.
Author’s Note: I wrote these two poems last week about the horrible flood that destroyed so many homes and affected so many in my Tennessee and Kentucky region. I live in Olive Hill, KY, where all homes within the city limits were destroyed.
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Laura Eklund is a painter and has been a poet since she was in third grade. Her poems have appeared in Tears in the Fence, ABZ, and Inscape. She published her first book Pine Needles in 2009.
Laura Eklund is a painter and has been a poet since she was in third grade. Her poems have appeared in Tears in the Fence, ABZ, and Inscape. She published her first book Pine Needles in 2009.
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